


Possession.

by chzo_mythos



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 02:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/604993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chzo_mythos/pseuds/chzo_mythos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No question about it, Jonathan owns Edward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possession.

**Author's Note:**

> ariadorkable asked:  
> Scarecrow/Riddler - possessive.
> 
> written at 4:30am

He’s never going to admit it, of course. To be perfectly honest, he might not actually be capable of saying it, even if he tired. But it’s still an undeniable fact, an ever-present sense in the room, making the air so thick with tension sometimes, it gets difficult to breath. Edward is his. 

That in itself is a key. Edward, not ‘Eddie’. Just like Jonathan will never be ‘John’ (okay, okay, Johnny-boy sometimes, but that’s only when he’s too worn out to protest). It adds a certain air of professionalism to their…relationship. It’s weird, Jonathan thinks. Conventionally, that’s what it would be called, even without any of the benefits. If they simply worked together, they’d be in a business relationship. But that word has so many implications now, and it makes Jonathan cringe. 

But even still. No matter how much he wants to throttle the man, Jonathan can’t deny that Edward has his charms. And though he’s never much cared for riddles, he appreciates intellect, and no one has ever accused Edward of lacking that. Well, maybe the Batman, but Jonathan doesn’t think he’s one to talk.

And of course Edward is attractive. That’s a given, but not really a factor. Merely a bonus.

It’s ridiculous, he knows, to think he can own a person, let alone Edward. Sure, with enough toxin, he can practically make anyone do anything he wants. But that isn’t the point. Edward is as sane as he’ll ever be, and so is Jonathan. And Jonathan fucking owns him. It’s nothing spoken between them, no romantic proclamations or domineering assertions—it’s just a fact, something they both know to be true, deep down in their bones.

When Jonathan first realizes it, it isn’t very climactic. He’s sitting at his make-shift lab in the apartment they share in the Narrows. He’s working on a commission—Miss Quinzel ordered a less controlled version of his toxin (no surprise there). He’s measuring out how many milligrams of lysergic acid diethylamide he needs when Edward walks in. Well, not really ‘walks’, more like ‘storms in with the footsteps of a thousand stampeding fucking elephants’. He’s blathering on about something, Jonathan catches the names ‘Ivy’ and ‘Zsasz’, and if he doesn’t shut the fuck up, Jonathan is going to strangle him. He’s about to say it, tell Edward to go away until he learns not to act like a beast when he’s working, but all he does is look up and Edward silences immediately. Their eyes lock and Edward’s mouth hangs open, mid-sentence. Then, without another word, he bows his head a bit and goes in to his their bedroom. Jonathan blinks. ‘Alright, then’.

And he gets back to work.

It doesn’t hit him until the next week, when he’s making another pot of coffee at three in the morning, the implications of that moment. He turns his head, looking through the open door to the bedroom, where Edward is snoring softly in the bed. Edward never does what anyone tells him to do—and Jonathan didn’t even say anything.

Ever the scientist, he tries it again the next day. He’s reviewing observations in his notebook (he’d managed to, ahem, find a test subject earlier in the day), when he thinks he could use a glass of water. ‘Simple enough’, he muses with a smirk. And Edward is in the room anyway, lying on the sofa, his legs draped over the back of the couch, head hanging upside-down. Jonathan clears his throat. Edward’s head perks up instantly, and when Jonathan’s eyes glance towards the kitchenette, the criminal is scrambling to his feet. When he sets a glass of water on Jonathan’s desk a moment later, Jonathan looks up at him, smirks, and looks to their bedroom. Edward grins and damn near flounces away, peering around the doorway when Jonathan takes his time.

 

And that’s it, at first. Edward does what Jonathan tells him (or, rather, doesn’t tell him to do). That wasn’t really what started it. Granted, Jonathan had equated Edward with a lapdog once or twice, but the major realization happens when they’re out. Jonathan is meeting with Miss Ivy to discuss the prospects of a botany based toxin, and Edward insists on tagging along. And, as usual, he’s being a nuisance. To be fair, Ivy is helping, using her womanly wiles as always (for someone who hates humans so much, she relies on the form far too heavily for Jonathan’s liking). She isn’t doing anything wrong, per say, but she’s definitely getting too close to Edward. She leaves momentarily, to grab the ‘precious baby’ she thought would be useful, and Jonathan grabs Edward’s forearm with more force than necessary. And when their eyes meet, even through their masks, Edwards swallows hard and gives a curt nod, and when Ivy comes back, he’s silent.

They make the transaction, and Jonathan agrees the plant will make a decent enough compound, and when they return home, Edward goes straight to the bedroom. This time, though, when Jonathan takes his time, getting more comfortable, straightening his ingredients and notes, Edward doesn’t peer around the doorframe.

 

So it’s nothing spoken, nothing necessarily tangible, but it’s undeniably there. Sure, Edward will do what Jonathan wants. And Jonathan feels a deep anger stir inside of him when Edward is flirting, or being flirted at. But he doesn’t love Edward by any means. He owns him.


End file.
